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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25553023">freckles &amp; cheeto stains</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/simplememories/pseuds/simplememories'>simplememories</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Ancient Greek Religion &amp; Lore, Percy Jackson and the Olympians &amp; Related Fandoms - All Media Types, Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan, The Heroes of Olympus - Rick Riordan</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Character Study, Gen, One Shot, Self-Indulgent, Wordcount: 1.000-3.000, Wordcount: 1.000-5.000, we need closure goddammit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 11:15:02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,314</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25553023</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/simplememories/pseuds/simplememories</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“This shouldn’t even be possible,” she muttered staring up at the high cavern and the dozens of spirits surrounding her. He grinned, his hollowed eye sockets boring into her soul, “Welcome to the Underworld.”</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>48</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>freckles &amp; cheeto stains</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>nobody</p>
<p>nancy: they ask you how you are, and you just have to say that you're fine, when you're not really fine, but you just can't get into it because they would never understand--</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>It was very cruel of fate, she would think later. For them to meet like this, so many years later, apologies unheard and paths written in stone.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She supposed it was her own fault, for throwing sandwiches at Grover Underwood’s head, for being a kleptomaniac, for being a bully. She supposed that’s why when he had finally noticed her his eyes simply widened and he went “oh.” Like surprise... well wasn’t that funny? It had been years, he had died at the age of fifty, yet he somehow still remembered her, freckles and all.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>But to be honest, she herself wouldn’t have thought she would have found herself in such a place if she were to look back to the age of twelve. She would still be a whiny little girl, pushing other little kids around and shoving them to the floor.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Don’t talk, just think</span>
  </em>
  <span>, said her therapist at that age. </span>
  <em>
    <span>But what did her therapist know</span>
  </em>
  <span>, she had thought. Her therapist probably saw tons of cases like her-- delinquent teenage girls, thinking that they were better than everyone else-- and he  probably didn’t think much about it. She supposed the therapist was right, she really was a delinquent teenage girl, but how could her therapist explain the monsters she saw when she turned the corner, stuff of nightmares and little girl screams. They defied nature-- lumbering huge men with only one eye, women with donkey legs, flaming hair, and red eyes, and ferocious dogs the size of tanks. But when others passed by they awwed at the monster like it was some sort of kitten and said “what a cute little poodle!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>No, she wasn’t crazy, but she definitely needed an explanation. She got one later on, like a joke that Fate dropped in too late, like it was saying-- oh hey, I just forgot to explain </span>
  <em>
    <span>this</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The </span>
  <em>
    <span>this</span>
  </em>
  <span> was life-changing, almost cliche, almost as if she were to be whisked away on some grand adventure by a storybook protagonist and defeat the storybook villain with the help of some storybook sidekicks. But, she would think bitterly, it wouldn’t be life-changing if she found it when she was dead. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Nancy Bobofit died at age seventeen in a world too big for her. She no longer had crooked teeth, but still had the spray of freckles, sprawled across her cheeks and nose and the bright red frizzy hair that Tristant Dubois was so fond of yanking in elementary school.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Nancy Bobofit stopped shoving people down and started helping people up at age fourteen-- she had a clean slate, new school, new people, and she took the chance. She still saw them, the monsters, which hovered at the very edge of her vision as if they were taunting her, but they no longer clouded her world.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Nancy Bobofit was different, but her parents could not tell. They were always fighting-- when she was younger she would hide under the blankets at night-- and at age fifteen they divorced. She knew her father was viewed as some mystery man, the high up executive which other businessmen vyed and strove to meet. Her father was not that mystery man at home, he was loving to an extent and cared enough about her to tuck her into bed at night and wish for her to have sweet dreams. Her mother was not a stay-at-home mom, but the kind you saw walking down Fifth Avenue, wearing a sleek silk dress with a Dior bag in one hand and a Sephora in the other. They both rubbed off on each other in different ways, not like the way opposites were attracted to each other, but as if it were a game of tug-of-war and they were both trying to pull her and each other in different directions and they couldn’t get the other to shift.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Many odd things happened in Nancy Bobofit’s life, but when a scruffy little boy that she picked on yelled at her and she fell backwards into a fountain of water, she was puzzled. She of course shouted back at the class and the teacher that he pushed her, that it was his fault. Mrs. Dodds seemed to take this with vindication, as if it justified her acting like a terrible teacher, and dragged the boy into the museum, the scared eyes of Grover Underwood following. But when she thought about it, she did not simply fall back into the water, it was like the water pulled her in and tried to submerge her, tried to drown her-- like a riptide. Nancy Bobofit had not understood the way the world worked at age twelve, so she had stolen another wallet and dismissed the thought.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Nancy Bobofit was a crude childhood bully, she played the part Fate wanted her to, and once she was done, once the scope on her life vanished, she finally stopped to think, like her therapist had said before. She had nodded morosely the day the advice had been given before saying goodbye and walking out of the warm office and into the cold frigid corridor, waiting for her parents to come pick her up.  </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Monsters aren’t real</span>
  </em>
  <span>, said her parents when she told them at the age of four, what she saw. Perhaps it was her guilt, she had thought, the countless kids she had made fun of and the countless other people she had stolen from-- so she had been nicer and tried to not be so rough around the edges, but it was hard. </span>
  <span class="u">
    <span>Monsters aren’t real</span>
  </span>
  <span>, repeated her parents at age fourteen when she woke up from a nightmare screaming (</span>
  <em>
    <span>huge black leathery things-- demons with hellish fire sprouting from their hair and writhing snakes for feet--</span>
  </em>
  <span>). She figured they were right in the end because in her entire life, she had never once bothered to look back.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>***</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She was at the beach, sun beating down on unsuspecting families. <em>Water was mesmerizing</em>, she thought as she stood by the shore, waves washing onto her bare feet. She squinted out into the distance-- her seven-year-old cousin was swimming, splashing around and hollering. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Strange</span>
  </em>
  <span>, she thought as she waded into the water closer to him, </span>
  <em>
    <span>never took him to enjoy the outdoors</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She was about fifteen feet away from him when she felt it-- a tugging in her navel like something was pulling her down. Her first thought was a shark, but she didn’t feel the sharp bite of teeth clamping around her leg. She noticed her cousin-- he wasn’t playing around he was thrashing around and calling for he-- where was the lifeguard?</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She took a glance backwards at the empty high chair and looked back at her cousin and swam madly towards him, her feet floating off the ground and the feel of the sand and pebbles between her toes gone--</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“HELP!” the muffled screams became clearer as she came closer and the waves became more violent. She struggled against the waves to swim and she saw him, the fear in his eyes-- </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Riptide</span>
  </em>
  <span>, her mind supplied as she held onto the little boy, </span>
  <em>
    <span>swim parallel not directly</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She held on as he thrashed and she felt like she was slipping as waves roared in her ears and the salt stung her eyes. “Kick!” she directed as the waves kept on lapping over her and the water seeped into her mouth. She lugged the boy and kicked frantically, seeing only the murky green and the sand--</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The boy-- what was his name?-- kicked furiously and she kicked further, parallel to the shore, and she pushed him seeing the sandy beach clearly-- where was everybody??-- she saw him ahead of her and he slipped out of her grasp--(</span>
  <em>
    <span>he must know how to swim</span>
  </em>
  <span>)-- once again, the tug of the navel came and she was dragged backwards, feet trying to find the ground and the sand--</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The boy stumbled onto shore--</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>(</span>
  <em>
    <span>how do you swim?</span>
  </em>
  <span>)</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She kicked further-- </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>(</span>
  <em>
    <span>no, no, parallel, parallel</span>
  </em>
  <span>)</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sea green, sand, salt--</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>(</span>
  <em>
    <span>pain in her ears, her eyes, oh, everywhere</span>
  </em>
  <span>)</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>hELP</b>
  <span>--</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>(</span>
  <em>
    <span>screaming</span>
  </em>
  <span>)</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>All so sudden-- </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>(</span>
  <em>
    <span>chest burning, bursting</span>
  </em>
  <span>)</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>-- water everywhere... did he make it to shore -- </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>(</span>
  <em>
    <span>what was the boy’s name?</span>
  </em>
  <span>)</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>a woman shouting:</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“PERCY! WHERE’S NANCY!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>oh</b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>(</span>
  <em>
    <span>sixth grade, peanut butter, ms. dodds</span>
  </em>
  <span>)</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>thrashing, the waves pulling the sand out -- </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>(</span>
  <em>
    <span>no, no, so much, mother, father</span>
  </em>
  <span>)</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span class="u">
    <span>monsters aren’t real</span>
  </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>-- darkness -- </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She remembered entering the Underworld. She remembered whimpering and looking around, eyes still adjusting to the dimness of it all. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Greek gods</span>
  </em>
  <span>, she had thought sourly, </span>
  <em>
    <span>but what about the monsters? The Greek monsters had died out in all the myths she had read.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The man (though he didn’t really look like one with the see-through skull) besides her smiled creepily at her as if he knew what she was thinking, as he rowed through the oily black waters of the polluted river. She took in the jagged shoreline and black volcanic sand covering it as the barge came closer and closer; she eyed the other people besides her, her nerves jittery.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“This shouldn’t even be possible,” she muttered staring up at the high cavern and the dozens of spirits surrounding her. The man grinned, his hollowed eye sockets boring into her soul, “Welcome to the Underworld.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Her head swiveled back and forth as the three men in golden masks talked among themselves.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“She was a bully,” the first one said.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“But she made up for it later in life,” the second one said resolutely, tilting his head to look at her.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“And she paid for it with her life,” the last masked man said apathetically. He suddenly turned towards her, the sheen of the gold refracting through her see-through body which was-- (</span>
  <em>
    <span>wrong, wrong, wrong</span>
  </em>
  <span>) </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Where do you want to go, Ms. Bobofit?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The second masked man laughed coldly (</span>
  <em>
    <span>an ugly sound</span>
  </em>
  <span>), “Jefferson never really knew how to do anything properly, let me--”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The third man shot him a look (which she supposed was supposed to come off as intimidating), “Ms. Bobofit?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Nancy opened her mouth and tried to make her voice not scratchy. “I don’t know?” she said, making her response sound like a question. “I mean, not hell?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The first one sighed heavily before saying, “Elysium. She barely makes it, but Elysium.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>And with a dozen questions in mind, she was pushed aside and walked through the gates at the end of the pavilion with the words marked ‘Elysium.’ From behind her, she heard the third person, in that indifferent way of his, drawl, “Next,” and she felt the need to walk faster, away from what lay behind her.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>(</span>
  <em>
    <span>dead, dead, dead</span>
  </em>
  <span>) </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>You see, Nancy Bobofit had changed, just like many people do eventually (whether it be for the better or the worse). </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The first person she saw when entering the so-called-Elysium was a small pale boy wearing an aviator jacket trailing across the hot sand of the beach. It would have painted a funny picture, at least the contrast between the boy’s dark clothes and the seeming light beaming down on everything, if not for the other boy trailing behind him. He simply wore a bright orange t-shirt and a pair of bermuda shorts-- almost laughable, except for the fact that he was not dead, unlike the other spirits (were they considered spirits?) and he seemed familiar… </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She squinted at the two not-dead boys who seemed to be looking around for someone… or something. She carefully avoided them (not knowing if she could get into trouble), setting foot in what looked like a resort of some sorts. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Hello!” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She spun around startled. The first thing she noted about the other girl (</span>
  <em>
    <span>spirit</span>
  </em>
  <span>) was that she was pretty-- stunningly pretty in fact. Dark wavy hair splayed behind the other girl, who had rather light eyes and an olive complexion. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The other girl smiled kindly (she looked about her age…), “Silena,” she offered. “I noticed you were just walking in here, and since you were about my age, I just wanted to welcome you. I’m assuming you’re new here?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Nancy Bobofit nodded quickly. “Uh, freshly dead,” she tried joking, then winced. “Sorry, that was bad.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Silena laughed, “It’s fine. So--” she stopped abruptly, her gaze lingering behind Nancy’s shoulders. Nancy spun around and saw that it was the same two boys she saw outside on the beach when entering the resort.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The boys seemed to be heading towards Silena so Nancy awkwardly sidled away to the side, just close enough to hear bits of their conversation, while she was pretending to stare at one of the resort signs.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>(It was not eavesdropping, she had insisted to herself later.) </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Hello--” Nancy edged a bit closer, to hear more.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“--long time no see, how’s--” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“--he’s great, we--”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Never thought -- our friend Leo --”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A shake of the head, “No, sorry.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The boy dressed in the dark clothes frowned and knitted his eyebrows together, like he was going to protest her response, but decided against it. He nodded solemnly and turned away, beckoning the bermuda-shorts-kid to follow him out the door. The friendlier looking boy waved goodbye before walking out the door, a wistful look in his eye.  </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Nancy walked over to Silena, who was gazing at the boys leaving. “Who was that?” she asked.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“That,” Silena said decisively before turning around to face Nancy, “was Percy Jackson.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>(</span>
  <em>
    <span>teeth bared into a snarl, messy black hair, ‘</span>
  </em>
  <b>
    <em>she</em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span> did it, not me!’</span>
  </em>
  <span>)</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“C’mon,” Silena said, a smile on her face, “there’s lot’s to show you, let’s have a look!” The girl turned around, dark hair swishing back and forth. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>For the first time in her life, Nancy Bobofit turned around to look back and she swore she could have seen a huge black dog bounding away, the size of a tank, fading into the shadows with two figures on its back. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah,” she said, spinning back around, “sure.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Because after all, </span>
  <span class="u">
    <span>monsters weren’t real</span>
  </span>
  <span>. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>…</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Right?</span>
  </em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>like whoops?</p>
<p>heh</p>
<p>I probably shouldn't be writing another fic considering how long it takes me to write like just ... I'M GETTING BACK TO MY HP SERIES DON'T WORRY</p>
<p>but has anybody wondered what would happen to Nancy Bobofit?? </p>
<p>(i know rick wrote an extra scene for the Last Olympian involving Nancy Bobofit, but I just needed to write this for myself welp)</p>
<p>+ I know it's called a rip current not a riptide, but I'm dramatic sO--</p></blockquote></div></div>
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